Revelations of a Slummy Mummy

When people first discover I have a son with significant and complex needs, their instinctive reaction is often a slight but detectable head tilt, and a fleetingly brief expression of discomfort rapidly replaced by a somewhat sad, somewhat constipated (I can never quite figure it out) half-smile. Then to fill the thick, awkward silence I've just induced comes, 'I'm sorry. That must be hard.'  I'm not in the business of tiptoeing around issues and my inner monologue regularly goes AWOL at the most inconvenient of times, which I'll admit, sometimes gets me into trouble. Bull in a china shop springs to mind, but anyway, in scenarios like I've just described, I think it's probably a positive thing.  Truthfully, it is hard. Truthfully, as any loving parent would be, I'm frustrated by how difficult everything is for my child. I abhor above anything his medical issues- the brain damage; the unpredictable seizure whirlwind that sweeps through at random

In the city of Sizz lived a mighty fine mix Of Trumpers, Ba-Bators and frilly Farzicks Each creature was different, it made things quite fun Important with ten different jobs to be done The Trumpers would toot on their Flug-a-Fone flutes, While Ba-Bators created the most brilliant boots Boot-shoes are fantastic for shoeing your feet And Sizz-lers the best kind of shoe-ers you'll meet  The Farzicks helped too in the most helpful way Their legs were so stretchy they walked in one day The distance that most in a year could not manage Delivered shoes swiftly, all new and undamaged Sizz-city was truly an excellent place, Each which-way you looked was a friendly-ful face Til one day a new mayor strolled right into town He wandered straight in and he tore the place down The Sizz-lers, (I hate to inform you but must) Were a little too free in their giving of trust They loved their new mayor by the generous heart-ful Made dinners, picked flower